JUST SITTING

(with Delycia at The Common Man Hotel, Claremont, NH, 8/27/2014)

Sitting with tea in our hotel room

reminded me that some things

are nearly always sitting. The stones

in riverbeds sit still for centuries

while the water washes and polishes them

so kayakers can see them sitting

and shining in their places. A lamp

sits on a table for days and days

and doesn’t move, whether sorrow surrounds

the people in the house, or joy joins

their hands in reassurance. The lamp

let’s things happen while it just sits.

The hotel, too, takes its time

and simply sits where it is

as we and the planets and stars swirl

through this leisurely universe.    


                                  The Common Man Inn, Claremont, NH

IN GOOD HANDS

 

"Starry Night", acrylic on masonite,
by Toni Grote

         Like most of us, I have spent a significant amount of time concerned about my safety and security, but sometimes it comes to me with clarity that this infinite and friendly universe has me in its very good hands. The truth is that I am not a separate, solitary person, but an essential and sheltered part of a single everlasting force, sometimes called God, the Tao, or just the Universe – a force that is always doing what is absolutely perfect for itself. If I close my eyes, I can see my life as a waft in a wind that never started and will never stop, or a wave in an endless ocean. How can this waft or this wave possibly be harmed? They can change, certainly – every atom in this universe is constantly swirling and transforming – but instead of fearing these changes, I should try to appreciate them. This astonishing universe takes good care of uncountable atoms and cells and particles, forever and ever, and it will take good care of that part of itself currently called “me”. Trust it, Ham.

SOFT AND STRONG

A person could be soft and strong, 

sort of like the sparrows that feed at feeders 

beside windows, their small bodies poised 

in strength and ease. You could sit beside a sorrow, 

and sit straight and resilient, saying to the sorrow 

that you are the supervisor, not it, and you 

take instructions from the sun and the stars, 

not from sorrow. You could get nourishment 

from your sorrow, sitting bravely beside it 

and softly snacking on the wisdom 

that waits inside this feeder 

that something has hung beside your life.    

COMFORTABLE WORDS

    In my reading this morning, I came across the phrase “comfortable words” (see below), and I wondered if I should pay more attention to those kinds of words in the future. The word “comfort” derives from the Latin word for “strength”, suggesting that strong words, those that stand up and speak sincerely and clearly, can also be the most comfortable ones. We say something is comfortable when it’s soothing and restful, and perhaps strong, straightforward, stalwart words, whether written or spoken, can bring some of that kind of comfort to us. After all, sometimes just being in the presence of wholesome strength can cause us to rest in reassurance, knowing that not much can harm us with so much forthright spirit close by. Words that do their work with honesty and force can reassure us, settle us down, and send us toward some faith that this world can be considerably more comfortable than painful.  

“. . .when he spake and cheered his Table Round

  With [. . .] comfortable words.”

      -- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”

PRESENCE

"Presence", oil, by Kristin Grevich

     Perhaps all of us know people who seem to shine with what we might call “presence”. These are people who seem thoroughly present, wherever they might be. When you’re with them, they give the gift of being completely with you, entirely in attendance, wholly here right now. In a strange sort of way, the presence of these people can create a sense in us of expansiveness, extensiveness, almost boundlessness, as though when they enter a room the walls seem to dissolve and an uncommon kind of freedom is felt. They are not only present with us, but completely content, satisfied, and pleased to be right where they are, which sometimes makes us feel, for perhaps a few moments, something similar, something satisfying and reassuring and empowering.      

SMILING AT WRINKLES

"The Old Man and the Sea", oil,
by Kay Crain

  It’s strange to me that so many senior citizens seem to hate their skin’s wrinkles, since I feel rather fond of mine. After all, wrinkles in the skin show that a person has survived for scores of years – has made a good fight of it, has stayed strong through decades, has done what needed to be done to enter the eminent empire of old age. Wrinkles mean perseverance, stamina, staying power. In some parts of the world, people with the most wrinkles receive the most reverence, simply because they’ve endured and carried on – and also because others sense that wisdom silently spreads out from these creased and craggy senior citizens. I’m not sure how much wisdom my old furrowed head contains, but I do smile when I see my wrinkles in the mirror. I give a silent shout of thankfulness that life has given me all these ridges and grooves, all these wrinkly badges of honor, all these crumpled emblems of a long and lucky life.